


Touch

by Baroness_Blixen



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, season 6 angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-03
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-12-10 14:39:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11693778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baroness_Blixen/pseuds/Baroness_Blixen
Summary: Scully tries to make sense of her relationship to Mulder after the events in "One Son".





	1. Chapter 1

She wants to go home and be alone. She doesn’t want to be Laura Petrie, married to Rob. These people, sugary smiles, sweet voices and stolen kisses, are not who they are.

Scully stares at Mulder across the table, digging into his food, his head hung low. He’s completely oblivious to her feelings reading her latest findings, his mind probably reeling with new ideas and theories. She watches him. Lately, watching is all she does. They don’t talk much save for the necessary work related banter. They haven’t talked about El Rico or Diana. Knowing their track record, Scully doubts they ever will. But she watches him. Checks for hints of a shift, a change in demeanor, but no, Mulder is just Mulder. It’s as if the last few months haven’t happened. As if Diana hadn’t come between them, shown her a new side of Mulder, her partner and friend, one of the few people she trusts with her life. Watching him now, across from her, in silence, she is not sure she ever really knew him at all.

“Mulder, I’m heading off to bed.” She pushes the plate away; she’s barely touched her food. Mulder looks up, confusing clouding his eyes until he finds hers, staring back at him. 

“Already?” He blinks at her when he sees her plate.

“You can finish it if you want. I’m not hungry.” The chair scrapes over the floor as she roughly pushes it away. She needs to be by herself. Being in this house with Mulder feels lonelier than her darkest thoughts at night. At least upstairs in her bedroom, the one she chased him out of, she can pretend she is alone here in this house. Pretending is another thing she does a lot lately.

“Hey Scully,” Mulder calls out, but she doesn’t stop; he can take care of the dishes, or not. She doesn’t care, “hey wait up, will you?” She is at the stairs when he reaches her, his hand grabbing her arm. She flinches, trying to pull away from him, but he doesn’t let go.

“What is happening, Scully?” His voice is so soft, just above a murmur, almost a caress, that she has to close her eyes for a moment. “You’ve been distant since we got here. You never… you can’t even stand it when I touch you.”

“That’s not true.” She whispers, angry tears pricking her eyes; it’s the truth. Mulder, untouched by recent events, continues to treat her like he always has. His hand on her back, guiding her. His hand on her shoulder, assuring her he’s there. Except he isn’t. He hasn’t been. Not when she needed him to be. When she thought he would be. Has he touched Diana like this? Held her hand, maybe, or put his arms around her waist. Maybe he didn’t use his hands at all. Let his lips take over. Kiss her lips, kiss down her body, kiss her places Scully used to wish he would touch her, in any way. She wipes away a stray tear; the longing is still there, gently knocks against her, and she wills it away. Just like Mulder, staring at her, it refuses to lose its hold on her.

“Isn’t it?” His grip loosens around her arm. Instead of taking his hand away though he starts caressing her arm. His index finger wanders up and down slowly, then his other fingers join in, playing against her skin. All the while Mulder doesn’t take his eyes off hers. He watches her, like she watched him earlier, and all she can do is stand here, frozen in this moment, trying to prove him wrong.

“Please stop.” She tells him, breaking down way too soon, not really expecting him to listen. When does Mulder ever do what she tells him to do? But his fingers come to a standstill immediately and a moment later his hand is gone. Only his eyes remain, unblinking, on hers. She feels the loss of his warmth stronger than she thought possible. She doesn’t want him to touch her; right now she doesn’t want him to be here, be around her. Yet she craves it; craves him. Her skin tingles, screams, for him to touch her again. To make it better.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Scully. I never do.”

“No, Mulder. You never do.” And yet he does all.the.time. He ditches her, he trusts a woman he hasn’t seen in years, over her; he dismisses her feelings, her doubts. No, he doesn’t mean to hurt her – she believes him – but the result is the same anyway.

“What can I do to…” To make it better, Mulder? To make it go away? Her eyes challenge him. She sees pain there, wonders if it mirrors her own. His hand twitches; he wants to touch her again, so badly.

“Just… I need some time, Mulder. I’m happy we have the x-files back, I really am. Let’s concentrate on that, all right? You told me not to make it personal. So let’s not make it personal. We have a job to do.” The words hurt her, but not as much as they hurt him. He takes a step back though she doubts he realizes it. She feels his absence again, even more so than before. Time, she told him. Maybe time will make it better.

“You can have all the time you need,” Mulder assures her with a solemn nod and she searches for a hint that he doesn’t take this seriously, that he once again heard her words but didn’t understand her, “I’ll be here.” He finishes, throwing her a small lopsided smile. She returns it.

“Good night, Scully.” Mulder adds, turning around, and this time her hand, in a reflex maybe, reaches out to him. She’s surprised herself when it comes into contact with his back. Warm and strong under her fingers it twitches in anticipation but he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t startle.

“We’ll be fine, Mulder.” Scully swears, waits until he nods, and she lets go of him. She ascends the stairs to the sound of Mulder clearing the table. They’ll be fine, she reminds herself with every step, and until they are, she’s just going to pretend.


	2. Chapter 2

She is dying.

Hands are clawing at her heart, most intimately, roughly reaching inside. She is fighting against the shadows, doesn’t understand anything but her will to survive, the need to make it stop. There is no pain as adrenaline rushes through her, but she smells the blood. The metallic taste tickles in her nose, lands on her tongue and makes her sick. She spits out instinctively as her hand lets go of her spent weapon, empty now, useless as it falls down next to her with a clang.

She is dying.

Her heart fights hard, beats strongly against the invading hands, and there is no sense in any of this, no reason, or logic. The beat of her heart drumming in her ears, Scully feels herself slip away. Exhaustion settles over her, gently, like a soft blanket, as her eyes drift close. I’m sorry, Mulder. I’m sorry. She listens to her heart beat, beat, beat, and lets go.

She is dying.

The thought settles in her mind, peacefully. She still hears her heart, beating strongly, thrumming in perfect rhythm. Warmth spreads through her as a breath of air caresses her cheek. Mulder, she thinks. She thinks of him, longs for his presence, and then she feels him. It’s his hand on her chest, searching, his other hand on her cheek, hoping. His heart misses a beat, makes up for it with a faster rhythm a moment later. It has been months since she’s felt this. If she’d been granted one last wish, it would have been this; it would have been Mulder’s touch.

For all the times Mulder doesn’t listen to her, didn’t, he listened that one time. Don’t touch me, she told me, give me time, she pleaded. He had given her time, and space, a plenty. Always making sure not to touch her. Every once in a while she’d seen his struggle, a shadow passing over his face, as he busied his hands with a file, buried them in his pockets. Anything to keep his hands off of her. No more. Now Scully becomes alive under his touch. She feels her lungs fill with air as his fingers crawl forward through the blood, fear slowing him down. Before he reaches his destination, Scully’s eyes pop open. Her first breath is sudden, too sudden, and she almost chokes. When her eyes find his, uncomprehending and scared, she first fears she really is dead. But there is her heart again, beating against her ribcage furiously, alive, alive, alive. Her arms reach out to him and he lets her in, hugs her as tightly as she lets him, but not as hard as she’s clinging to him. The tears come unasked, bring heavy sobs, deep sorrow. She grabs for him, tries to get even closer, and he hold on to her, just as desperately.

They don’t talk about it. Ever. He takes her to the hospital, his eyes watchful over her, one of his hands always hovering close, sometimes touching. She refuses to stay there, wants to go home.

“Do you want me to take you to your mother’s?” She shakes her head, stares at her reflection in the car window. There’s no way she could even begin to explain what has happened to her. The doctor assured her that nothing was the matter, no wounds, no scars. She’d washed off most of the blood before they went to the ER. No traces. Nothing wrong with her.

“No, I just want to go home.” They barely exchange words, but Mulder’s hand finds its spot on her back the moment she gets out of the car. She knows he’ll take his hand away if she asks him to. He has before, after all. Him keeping his distance is no longer what she wants.

“Do you need anything?” He lingers around the couch, unwilling to leave, and Scully realizes that she doesn’t want him to go either. She doesn’t analyze it, not now, doesn’t question whether she wants him around because of what has happened with Padgett or if it’s because she’s missed him. She’s pretended that she doesn’t need him like this. Told herself, and him, that she wanted distance; let’s not make it personal, she’d told him, throwing his own words back at him. She doesn’t know when it happened, suddenly or gradually, but she can see in his eyes, knows her own heart, that whether they like it or not, it is personal. It’s time to accept it. 

“You can stay… if you want.” She’s not going to ask him. She is not there yet.

“I’d love that.” He tells her, his voice even. She nods at him, gives him a small smile, and watches as he takes off his jacket and gets comfortable on her couch. The couch is too small for him in every way and she is almost tempted to invite him into her bed. She is definitely not there yet, though. Instead, she strolls into her bedroom, gathers a pillow and a blanket and hands them to him. She makes sure their fingers touch this time, revels in the small contact, the tingle it causes. She’s not going to deprive herself of this any longer. He thanks her silently and glances up at her.

“I’ll be here.” He assures her, repeating the words he said when she asked him for more time months ago. She knows now that he means it; knows that he’s working hard to earn back her trust, willingly following her directions. So it has to be her. It has to be her choice, her move. Looking at him, she wishes she could tell him that she never once doubted him. That she never once stopped trusting him. But she doesn’t want to lie. She promised herself they’d be fine, and here they are, another life-threatening moment later, and they really are. 

“Thank you, Mulder.” Scully tells him softly and leans forward. She means to kiss his cheek, and does so, but once her lips have touched his skin, she changes directions. She finds his lips and grazes them briefly. When she lets go again, albeit reluctantly, she grants him a smile that he reciprocates easily. She squeezes his hand, leaving a promise with him that this is merely the beginning, the start of something new, before she goes into her bedroom alone, closing the door behind her softly.


End file.
